


It Was An Accident.... I Swear....

by misslmf



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: And I'm bad at summaries, Angst, Celine is angry, Damien is confused, Gen, I'm Bad At Tagging, Kinda fluff, Mark pretty much messed everyone up that night, Wilford has memory loss, but everyone is sad, but it's mainly angst, god i'm sorry, it gets a little bit happier at the end though, what a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22735333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misslmf/pseuds/misslmf
Summary: After Wilford narrowly escapes yet another run-in with the cops, he tries to go home to relax and just watch some TV.But then suddenly he’s not where he’s supposed to be, and he’s met with a strange man in a very dapper suit, who knows a worrying amount about him and makes a very bad feeling settle in Wilford’s stomach.The worst thing is, he’s not even wearing any pants.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	It Was An Accident.... I Swear....

Wilford burst through the door and pushed his back against it immediately, breathing heavily and shutting his eyes, trying to block out the shouts and pounding fists. He couldn't understand why everyone had called the cops on him. Okay yes, he shot someone when they were all dancing - by _accident_ of course - and sure, when people screamed and started running out he killed them too... But it wasn't a big deal or anything. It wasn't like they weren't going to get back up again after a few hours. That always happened. Yes, Wilford was about 97% sure of it. But someone just _had_ to call the police. He rolled his eyes and looked behind him at the door. All the noise had ceased finally and he thought that maybe it was safe to step away. When he did, everything was quiet, apart from his breathing that was still rapid almost painful in his lungs. Even though he always managed to get away if he was locked up by someone, it didn't stop him from being nervous every time.

"Jeezum crow that was a close one." He sighed, sorting out his moustache - all the running wrecked havoc with it most days - and straightened out his hair as he spoke under his breath just in case he wasn't alone after all. The gun he had used that was still in his hand was silver and cold; he threw it across the room with a shrug, deciding to just buy a new one at some point, before he stumbled out of the room as he brushed himself off.

He was humming a little tune while he went and he looked back and forth carefully to check for any left-over authorities that had hung around when he opened the door of the back exit in the little storage room. And once he was sure of his safety, he hopped out into the street, the sun feeling like it was burning his retinas. He winced a little and shivered despite the warm, covering his eyes. He hoped that the familiarity of the route could lead him back without problem.

Wilford turned a familiar corner not far from the dance club and he ended up at the place he had been staying at for a few days. He never liked to settle in one place for too long, the constant change and moving around excited him and he loved it. He pushed the door opened violently; it slammed against the wall, and then slammed loud again as it shut.

His pink shirt was awfully wrinkled and he groaned at the thought of having to iron it. Especially since the last time he used an iron on his clothes he had almost burned them to a crisp. But when Wilford looked in his wardrobe, all he could see was yellow button ups, a row of pink bowties on the top shelf and suspenders of the same colour folded at the bottom, with one rainbow pair standing out stark among them.

"Well, I really _should_ change." He sighed. Not only was his shirt wrinkled, it was also sweaty and his trousers were covered in dirt. Even if it did mean having to wear the kind of clothes that he hadn't done in quite a while. "Shit."

Wilford crumpled up his clothes and threw them in the washing hamper. Then he slipped on a shirt and decided maybe it would be nice to at least complete the set. So he tied the bow around his neck and clipped the suspenders into his briefs; they were white and covered with pink moustaches, a piece of clothing on his own creation. There seemed to be a distinct lack of trousers in his house for some reason, but he just shrugged and thought that there was no harm in walking around in his underwear.

Praying that there would be something decent on his dumb TV, he sat down heavily on his plush couch and crossed his legs. The remote was sitting right next to him on the arm of the seat and then- it wasn't. It was halfway across the room on the ground. The TV scream went static and Wilford's eyes snapped over to it. A light pink tint appeared around his eyesight, barely affecting his vision but just enough for him to notice it. He dropped his head back with a groan.

"Oh Jesus fu-"

Wilford fell back onto the ground, slamming his back and rubbing his head when he slowly rose and sat up. He hit it pretty bad when he landed and he felt a bit dizzy. He had no idea where he was, when he was or what he had come from. Just that for the millionth time, the world had stopped making sense.

"Dammit!" He looked around frantically. "Where the hell am I?"

He decided that the best thing to do was to just walk. It looked like he was in some strange drak corridor. As he walked down further, his footsteps echoing and bouncing of the grey stone walls, a portrait lit up and he jumped when the noise of the overhead lamp was so harsh.

The painting was of a man in a white outfit, a chef's hat and a knife held up in his hand like it was a weapon. Wilford could see that the man had long black hair but his eyes were obscured by a huge cross that had been splattered on with black paint. When he looked at it, words started to whisper through his brain,

_I thought I told you to stay outta my kitchen!_

Wildord frowned and tilted his head a little, trying to keep reminding himself that he wasn't crazy. But the way that voice was so recognisable was rubbing him the wrong way and he wished that he was anywhere else. Another painting showing a man in a smart butler's suit, wearing smart whit gloves. Again, he couldn't see the mans eyes but,

_Master would be so displeased! If only he were still alive!_

This time he shivered as the voice wailed, clearly filled with pain. Wilford was not liking what was happening at all. And most of all, he had no idea why he wasn't wearing any trousers.

The third picture took him by surprise. For the one reason that was he knew who it was. He was sure of it 100%, even though he couldn't see the man's eyes. But those clothes, that deerstalker hat... It could only be one person. The only friend he had, the only one who understood what was going on.

_Maybe I shouldn't have trusted someone so goddamn gorgeous_

He didn't touch or even go near a single one of the painting until the fourth one. Wilford felt himself immediately drawn to it so he went over and stroked it. It depicted a man wearing a beige safari uniform, complete with a hat and his chest had almost a dozen medals and badges. Wilford gently touched the black paint over the eyes and his hands slid down to run his fingers over the pink moustache that painfully resembled his own, and had clearly been added in by someone else. As he was touching it, his eyes shut of their own accord and he somehow remembered something that he didn't even know existed.

There were brown wooden walls surrounding him, he was in a house with a person behind him, leaving one of the bedrooms. He straightened his uniform and thought about the people with him, and what he had done the night before, even if it was an accident. His friend behind him followed him like a dog and they walked through the grounds together, until he heard a voice, a male's voice, cry out his name. A different name.

 _"_ **_William!_ ** _"_

Wilford fell back onto his ass _\- again -_ and he looked up at the painting again, gasping for air and clutching his chest, feeling it beat like a mockingbird's. And just when he thought it was over, the most familiar voice, one so familiar that it almost hurt, rang out, louder than any of the other ones that had come to him that night,

_I thought it was about time we got to know each other, far far from the prying eyes of ... anyone else..._

He found it difficult to do so, but Wilford eventually managed to tear his eyes away and was filled with joy to see a door, finally a way out of this hell he'd found himself trapped in. With a relieved sigh, he ran and pushed through, only to be met with more darkness, darker than before, which he didn't know was even possible. A light above him lit up with a crash and he jumped again, looking up at it with curiosity. Then just ahead of him another did, then another, and another, running down the whole room, which seemed to be much longer that he originally thought. And at the end, he saw something that for some reason, unsettled him greatly, but also filled him with a strange kind of rage.

One single painting was in front of him, of a man in a red robe, standing on a staircase with a cocky smile on his face, one of his arms out in front of him like he was presenting something amazing, something that he was so eager to show off, but not in the right way. Wilford's fists clenched but he wasn't sure why.

 _This night's not about me. It's about_ you _. And who knows, I could be dead tomorrow._

Awful laughter began normal but soon faded away, morphing and distorting into a horrible noise. The painting crumbled before his eyes and Wilford took a few steps back. He had never been the kind to be scared, or uneasy about something. In fact, he was usually the one causing the fear or the unease. But something about where he was just was not right. And he couldn't understand why. Taking him by surprise and shocking him to the core, a voice sounded, a real voice that wasn't just in his head, sounded from his left.

"Same snake... Different skin..."

The was a man in front of him when he turned, wearing a white suit. There was something off about the man's body, like he was glitching, made of blue and red. It should have been scary to see someone like that in the dark suddenly. But for a reason unknown to him, the man's voice almost made Wilford feel better. Really it sounded like two voices trying to speak at the same time, like two people trapped in one body, always in pain, always trying to get out.

"Always spinning his yarns, his webs, his li-"

Wilford and the man just looked at each other in silence, like some kind of weird stare off. The man tilted his head in confusion at the exact same time Wilford did, they squinted, looking closer.

"Do I know you friend?" Wilford asked. He stepped towards him, holding out one of his hands to be shake, but flinching away when the man scowled and almost glitched away from him to the left. "Woah, it's okay, it's okay!" Wilford looked nervous. He still couldn't get why this man looked like he was some kind of computer glitch or virus judging by the way be flickered between red and blue, back and forth.

"You're not supposed to be here." The man was glaring and Wilford played with his fingers, which was something he did when he was anxious. Except, Wilford never got anxious. He didn't get why the man made him feel like that, or why he was being so aggressive. They'd only met about thirty seconds ago. "Who are you?"

"I could ask you the same question my good sir." Wilford winked cheekily with his usual big smile that practically lived on his face most of the time. But at the looked he received from that man the smile dropped and he fiddled with the pink hair of his moustache, something that was not good for moustache care, he had to admit. He was about to just walk away and try to get to home - wherever home was - but before he could, the man moved forward so fast it looked like he flew. So fast that it even blew air into his face and moved his hair. "Oh um, hello there."

Before Wilford even knew what was happening, a fist was flying at his face. But the way it glitched and flashed between reds and blues made it look like there were dozens of them coming. He yelped and spun impossibly quickly out of the way. So much so that even the strange man in front of him faltered and almost lowered his fist. But he just gritted his teeth and lunged forward. Wilford reached blindly behind him and his hand came back holding a silver pistol. He lifted up the gun and shot at the man several times. He tilted his head when he saw the man's figure disappear for a few split seconds, meaning the bullets just flew straight through him. The man hit away the gun, sending it skidding across the ground and grabbed Wilford by his suspenders, tugging him closer with a grip stronger than iron. Wilford frowned and slipped away, falling to the ground and rolling to the left. He looked at his hands, confused at the way Wilford had seemingly passed through his fingers like smoke. Then his eyes darted up fast and locked with Wilford's, who shuddered under the intensity of his gaze.

"Is your name..." The man looked away from Wilford still lying on the ground, breathing heavily and something vaguely human appeared on his face, making Wilford more uneasy. He was about to say something when the man held up his hand and pointed a finger. He held out his hand and Wilford, after a moment of deliberation, took it and stood up slowly. "Is your name, Wilford Warfstache?"

Wilford bit his lip and looked around for an escape. Unfortunately, he had forgotten that he was in a terrifying void of darkness, so there was no way out away from this mysterious man who was right there, their noses almost touching.

"Well yes, that is what I get called by that name most of the time but you-" Wilford was cut off when the man shook his head and managed to shut him up without having to even say anything.

"The Colonel?"

"That name does ring a bell, however-"

"William," The man hesitated and bit his lip similarly to how Wilford had done just moments ago. At the moment, the man's voice and face flickered in a way that made him look like someone Wilford had known a long, long time ago. "William J. Barnum?"

Wilford froze and shut his eyes tightly. He didn't know what was going on behind them in his head, but whatever it was it hurt like a _bitch._ Every name that the man had said had not felt good for Wilford in any way shape or form. It was like thnings were getting pulled for his brain over and over again at an alarming rate.

"Maybe-" He choked on the words he was about to say but he didn't know why. "Maybe once upon a time I had been but... I never knew..."

The man's finger actually moved to sit over his lips and Wilford looked down at it, his eyes crossing. He wasn't too fond of the fact that it seemed nice to have it there. Their faces were so close and feeling the man's breath fanning over his face was really like something that had happened before, perhaps when he was younger, or in some over time. He soon thought back to the pictures he was looked at before and a bad, weird feeling settled at the bottom of his stomach. The one of the man in the safari unifrm came to the forefront of his mind and those words spoke again, louder, like they were trying to tell him something.

"Are you sure I don't know you?" Wilford whispered against the finger, thinking about how hot his breath must be on the man's skin. "What's your name?"

"It's complicated." The man looked at the ground, his head twitching up and down, his fists clenching and unclenching in red and blue, the red harsh and bright when the blue, while still very angry, was slightly softer and didn't hurt his eyes as much. Despite his voice being deep and rumbling, so much so that it felt like it was rattling is bones, the way everything about him seemed double, underneath everything angry, there was something calm, patient and understanding, and possibly sweet. "I'm more that what I look like."

"Well, me too." Wilford couldn't help but laugh out loud, despite their situation and where they were. He winked again, seeing that the man in front of him was trying to keep in a smile, maybe even a laugh. "I may look like a normal man with a large pink moustache just standing here with no trousers," The man gave in but covered his mouth as he chuckled, shaking his head. "but there are some more curious things about me.

They were both quiet for a while then, only slightly awkward but there was also an air of comfortableness, like they were used to being together in silence like that, just alone and silent.

"Some people call me Darkiplier, or just Dark usually, for ease." He said suddenly, breaking the silence. Wilford's eyes shot up and looked at him. He was surprised that he'd actually found out. "But that's a stupid name, I know."

"Oh, come on..." Wilford waved that away but he had to admit to himself that it was kind of stupid if he was being honest. "But it's not like my name isn't dumb. _Wilford Warfstache -_ bully, why did I give myself that name?" Dark laughed, not covering his mouth and showing a beautiful smile, one that almost took Wilford's breath away.

"Like I said though... complicated." He repeated quietly.

"Why don't you try and... uncomplicate it?" Wilford said with a raised eyebrow. He wasn't even sure if that was a word, or if Dark would go for it; he didn't seem like the kind of man who would want to talk about his feelings so openly.

"I don't know if you'd believe me."

"Oh trust me, there have been a lot of things that have happened to me that I don't think even a strange flickering man who appeared out of nowhere would believe. So try me scary man." Wilford saw to his left that there was a desk. He hadn't even seen that before, but he dragged the man over to it with him and they sat down, like they were having some kind of interview. Which Wilford was actually kind of used to after all. 

"Okay..." Dark said slowly. He leaned down on his elbows and looked at Wilford intensely, who tucked his chair in eagerly and did the same, returning that serious look with a beam on his lips and raised eyebrows.

"I wasn't always like this." Dark gestured up and down himself. "Once upon a time I was a normal person. Or should I say, normal pe-" He flinched and groaned, his figure flickering again and it looked like he was in pain. Wilford wanted to help but he wasn't sure if he had any way to. Through gritted teeth, he managed to get out his words, "Normal _people._ "

"People?" Wilford asked. Nothing had made him so curious for a while. "Plural?" Dark, annoyingly so, ignored the question and carried on talking.

"When I was a young boy, I had three friends and we were as close as anything. We spent pretty much every day together. I loved all three of them more than the world, and I still couldn't imagine anything better than spending every day of my _life_ with the three of them." A smile appeared on his face and a Wilford noticed that flashing aura that had surrounded him the whole time they'd been together was almost completely blue, only the smallest amount of red lining him, particularly on the left. "Celine, Mark and William." The three names made Wilford a bit uncomfortable but he pushed past it and tried to just focus on everything that Dark was saying.

"And your name? I can't assume that Dark was your born name, no offense of course." Wilford said. He noticed that Dark had never mentioned it.

"Not important." Dark shook his head, his voice going deep again for a second. But only a second. "It doesn't matter. What matters is, as we grew up, things started to go wrong. Some people got together with the wrong people, and break ups ruined relationships, but also making some stronger. One night, when we were all adults in good jobs and good health, we had a party with a few more friends. And it was great, we had fun and I enjoyed the evening. But... by the morning after... Mark was dead."

_And who knows, I could be dead tomorrow_

Wilford remembered the words that had come from that painting of the man in the red robe that he had seen before he met Dark. 

"The whole mystery of it all caused chaos where we were and more people than I'd like to admit were killed in the next few days." Dark leaned back and sighed. Wilford did the same and found it humourus that Dark looked annoyed at the possibility that Wilford was just copying him. "Even I was dead."

Wilford looked at his hands folded on his lap and took a few deep breaths. Something about the story made his stomach twist painfully but he could put his finger on why. It was becoming annoying that Dark was making him feel that way all the time.

"At least you're got back up again." He mumbled with a weak smile, just loud enough for Dark to hear his words. At least the story had a happy ending. However, it did make him uneasy when Dark suddenly stared at him deeply with narrowed eyes.

"And that doesn't shock you at all?" Dark said. Wilford shook his head and Dark sighed, looking almost tearful, which Wilford thought looked rather out of place on his very menacing figure.

"You really don't remember me William?"

Just those six words made Wilford shoot so suddenly and so fast that his chair fell backwards and hit the ground with a crash that echoed all around them. It was like his body had moved completely out of his own control. Dark stood up as well but Wilford was too busy pacing and clutching his head in his hands to notice. With every step he groaned with a pain that wasn't going away. It felt like there was a wall in his head made of ice, fragile and cracking like someone was hacking at it with an axe. It only stopped when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Wilford turned slowly and saw Dark there, a hint of a comforting smile on his face and the halo of harsh flickering lights around his body almost completely gone. The sight was so warm and familiar to Wilford that immediately, the wall in his head burst and a tidal wave of voices, names and faces tumbled in. He felt twelve years old again, with the eyes of his best friend staring softly into his own, a million stars in them and he stumbled, falling heavily into Dark's open and inviting arms. Looking up with tears threatening to spill down his face, no matter how desperately he wanted them not to, he whispered,

"Damien?"

**Author's Note:**

> so i have no idea what this is, it's just saaaad who killed markiplier stuff because all who killed markiplier makes me feel is sad :(  
> i love wilford and darkiplier so much and i'm just obsessed with dark (as damien mainly) recognising wilford as william and it taking a lot for wilford to realise it's damien and who he is/was and i don't know if that makes sense but it does it my head so idk  
> anyway, i hope you enjoyed these two being babie and making me upset while i wrote this  
> thanks for reading :)))  
> (and yes, he does end up in the corridor we find ourselves in in the darkiplier ending of heist with markiplier, i am unoriginal)


End file.
